Walking hurriedly to another side of the tower, Derrick faced Pablen Palace in the distance. As he had idly done several times already, he called to that someone with his thoughts. Not by name, but with an image of her lovely face.
He waited, poised as if drunkenly expecting a reply. But there was none.
Just as he turned and leaned on the protective metal bar running along the edge of the building, his com-link beeped again. Enraged, Derrick grabbed the device and dashed it against the concrete floor, sending it skidding toward a far access door. Turning back around, he rested his forearms defiantly against the railing just as that same door was cautiously opened.
"Derrick?" Cathena Barell called, her voice barely above the flaying wind.
Derrick whirled, staring in astonishment as the Soror came forward, her cape whipping about her. He came to meet her, his own cloak furiously waving like fanned flame. "You did not answer me," he said in hurt accusal, as if she truly had heard his earlier thought projections.
"I am here, am I not?"
"But you could have—"
"You were not answering your com-link."
"No! You could have...have..."
Derrick's eyebrows narrowed as his mouth settled into a pout. The Soror laughed. As he looked at her in confusion, Barell imitated his expression. He laughed as well, not caring about the effect she had over him. Her very presence had lifted the fog that clouded his mood. His doubts had been vanquished. His questions could wait. Derrick knew who he was again and, until the danger to the Family was over, he also knew that it was not the time to be divided.
"So," Derrick said, grinning as he glanced at his smashed com-link, "did my nervous guard captain send you up here to talk me down?"
"No," answered the Soror, walking closer. "I came here only to be with you." Her words triggered an impulse in Derrick, who found himself putting his arms around the young woman.
He placed his lips upon hers.
Shocked by his own presumption, he was even more taken by the realization that Soror Barell had offered no resistance. Lowering his arms so his hands rested against the small of her back, Derrick pulled away slightly so that he could see more of her as he looked into her eyes.
Cathena Barell raised her hands to his shoulders.
"Stay with me," Derrick asked, verging on tears as control threatened to slip from his grasp once more. He no longer cared about the trial, his family's crimes, or any consequences. "Even if...even if it is only for this one night."
"I will," Cathena replied, tears forming in her yes, "if you promise to let me leave in peace once the trial is over."
Derrick drew closer. This time the Soror stopped him. "You must promise."
"I promise," he said quickly, again easing his mouth toward hers.
Barell raised her hand, touching her fingers to his lips. "Look at me and promise."
Derrick paused, taking in the details of her face before finally gazing into the sea-green waters of her eyes. He straightened slightly and assumed a tone of strict solemnity. "I promise."
Seeing the Soror release her breath, he reached up and gently lowered the hood of her cape. She said nothing as his hands proceeded beneath her coif and freed its hold over her long aurulent hair. Kissing her again as countless strands of gold flew about the edges of his vision, Derrick unfastened the rest of her habit, lifted it high above her and let the winds carry it away.
---
Back in his rooms at the Palace the next morning, Derrick had no sooner pulled his boots off when a military adjunct hailed to report renewed trouble in Galleston. Despite government assurances that the situation was under control, an Imperial destroyer had assumed synchronous orbit over the city. Yet while it pressured House Possór's forces to quell the disturbance or face preemptive Imperial involvement, it also helped. For if the uprisers continued their unrest, who knew what the Imperials might do to see that order was restored?
Derrick knew this ominous uncertainty was being fueled by his people to the citizens of Galleston. He only hoped it worked. While he was confident he could defuse the situation with a little time, he was also aware that time was something that the Andior heir might not give him.
With a sigh, Derrick sluggishly resumed removing his clothes from the previous night, vaguely remembering the uniform he had chosen to wear for the trial as he unbuttoned his collar.
The problem was out of his hands for now. Even if Guerren Andior used this as a pretext to temporarily assume governance of the planet, all Derrick could do was offer protest. He did not have time to fight Imperial military occupation. The trial would go on.
It was odd, he thought. After leaving Soror Barell, he had felt invigorated, ready to take on the challenges before him. Now he felt the comfort she had given him ebb away, threatening to leave him once more tired and unsure. He would not let that happen.
"My Lord!" a servant began. "I am sorry. Did you wish me to draw a bath for you?"
Derrick looked blankly at Lenalt Depré before giving in to a laugh. "Ah Lenalt!" Derrick guffawed. "Is that your way of telling me to hurry up and take my goddamned shower?"
Lenalt did not smile, his face and voice indicating that he was decidedly not in good humor. "The other judges are set to meet in chambers in one quarter hour, my Lord."
Derrick's eyes widened as he propelled himself past his new valet. "You should have said that sooner!" he called back, pulling his shirt over his head as he rushed to his washroom.
Lenalt Depré reached down and retrieved Derrick's discarded cloak and boots.
---
Seffan Possór sat before the judicial bench with three of his legal counselors. His unadorned and somewhat oversized House Possór uniform only added to his weary appearance. It was a look accentuated by his angular features, and revealed that not even the stimulants provided by his doctors could dispel the effects of a lack of rest, food and comfort.
How do you plead?
The room's spectators sounded distant to him as he waited for the court in silence. The Count-Grandee heard a few of the comments, most of them relating to such trivial matters as how stately and impressive the courtroom looked, but he was not really listening.
His thoughts preoccupied him. His thoughts grated at him.
As every moment passed, each increased the torment of his battle with uncertainty.
Uncertainty. It was something the lord of Legan never truly had to deal with before, especially on so profound a level.
With a strained turn of his head, Seffan glanced at his cousin, Lilth Morays. She smiled at him encouragingly, prompting a weak smile back. He knew what she planned for the truthseer and he approved. As with any plan however, there was a chance for failure, and he did not have the luxury of waiting. He had to know if it would work now, before making his plea.
Given the particularities of his case, his lawyers advised that, as a practical matter, Seffan needed to either plead guilty to all the charges, or to none. As a conviction after an innocent plea would trigger a penalty multiplier, due to his deemed perjury, and disqualify him for an appeal to the Emperor's mercy, pleading innocent thus required relying on Lilth successfully neutralizing the truthseer, who represented the true threat to Seffan’s case.
Betting against Lilth’s success would mean pleading guilty which, even with a commuted sentence, could result in him rotting in an Imperial prison, and House Possór financially broken. It could even threaten Derrick's very claim to the throne, or what may be left of it.
These were issues with which Seffan’s lawyers could not help him. It troubled him more however that even the vision offered him little guidance. Psychically searching for a way out of his predicament had only added to his depression, as the answers he found all fell far below his hopes. Worse, the more favorable possibilities seemed beyond his ability to manipulate, as his vision failed to identify any lever which he could use to shift to a future of his choosing.
In the end, the Count-Grandee had determined that he
would wait for a sign to show him how to proceed.
It had yet to come.
So at that moment, even though he would soon be called upon to answer the charges against him, and even though his plea would likely determine both his fate and that of his familial house, Seffan Possór still did not know what that answer would be.
---
Jordan Possór entered the courtroom through the main double doors, walking past the small group of reporters down the middle aisle. Like many who attended the proceedings, he wore a rather plain formal uniform with minimal regalia. In Jordan’s case however, none of the decorations he wore were military honors.
After nodding to a few distant relatives seated in other rows, Jordan spotted the back of his sister Lilth's head, her bright red hair combed high beneath a sparkling diadem. She sat in the first row behind Seffan, the seats around her all empty. "Good morning," he said.
Lilth responded by silently inviting Jordan to sit beside her. He did so, tugging at his collar of his uniform as it pressed against his throat.
"I expected Vialette to be here," he remarked, not having expected either of Lilth’s sons.
"Lena said she came home last night sulking, and doubted she would be coming."
"Is she coming?" Jordan asked, referring to their younger sister.
Lilth shook her head, stopping abruptly as something caught her eye. Turning, Jordan saw the Soror emerge from a back door to take her place next to where the judges would sit. Dread crept over him. Knowing his sister’s plans, he had still hoped that she might change her mind. Seeing her grab something hidden within the layered folds of her garment all but killed it.
Gods! thought Jordan. You are not going to do it right now, are you? Although he had not intended to use telepathy, Lilth clearly heard his silently formed thoughts.
"When did you think I was going to do it?" Lilth shot back, nearly unnerving her brother with a reply he did not expect.
"Well, not when there are so many people around!" answered Jordan, squirming in his seat. Privately, he admitted that there had been no earlier opportunity.
“I have to do this before Seffan’s plea,” said Lilth.
“Why?” Jordan asked, knowing the reason. If Lilth could truly overpower the truthseer, now was the time to put it to the test. Seffan needed his answer. There could be no mistake.
"Quiet now," the Viscountess hushed, ready to enter her trance. "I have to concentrate."
Jordan fell silent as he tentatively reached out with a psychic probe, wondering if anyone else was similarly monitoring the room. He did not detect anything, although he knew his sister would still have to be careful to avoid risking suspicion falling upon her.
Seconds passed as Jordan’s trepidation grew.
Having downplayed her brother's fears, Lilth nonetheless had no intention of subverting the Soror's mind. Jordan was correct that such a move was too dangerous. While the Viscountess was certain that she could defeat the younger woman in a psychic duel, success would also arouse the notice of people around them. Lilth's doll might afford her some advantage, but it would not ensure secrecy, and a battle with the Soror would be difficult to hide.
Instead, Lilth focused on what Jordan had told her about the use of untrained personnel in their operations. By her reckoning, they were the ones who truly threatened Seffan, even in death. Therefore, as they could not be fully concealed from all psychic observation retroactively, the alternative was to attack the problem at the other end. This meant that her task was to somehow inhibit the reach of the truthseer's vision.
Silently Lilth chanted a spell of her own design, using her thoughts to create a mental cloud that would obscure the Soror’s psychic vision of the past. Relying on what she learned of the Soror's defenses from her earlier ritual, she weaved the preternatural fog so that it might escape the other woman's notice, careful not to move the screening mist too close.
It was almost too easy. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, the Soror seemed completely unaware of the Viscountess' activity. Emboldened, Lady Voxny began to lay the foundations for some of her contingency plans, including a bid at mental domination.
Suddenly the Soror's brow furrowed as she looked intently at the people around her. Lilth sensed Jordan shift in his seat nervously. Trying to keep her identity hidden while still maintaining the psychic fog, Lilth dispersed her energy out over the room. Despite this measure, Soror Barell slowly turned and regarded her coldly.
"Why do you cloud my vision?" Barell demanded, projecting her thoughts to Lilth alone.
Lady Voxny let the fog dissipate, wondering if the Soror knew what else she had done. "I am not sure what you mean," Lilth replied, gradually gathering back her power.
"I warn you, Viscountess," Barell continued, "I will have you removed if you try to interfere with my duties again."
"Do not threaten me, Girl," the Viscountess snapped. "You can prove nothing. Besides, I can block your vision from anywhere."
"Do you wish me to fight you?" Barell asked, not bothering to comment on the Viscountess' boast. "I will do so, if you press me."
Lilth paused before responding, tingeing her thoughts with measured distaste. "A clash between us would be more trouble than its victory is worth," she said. "Your masters would only send a replacement." Lady Voxny smiled. Assuming they found out about it.
"Very well," Barell concluded, again offering no response to the Viscountess' affronting bravado. "I will anticipate no further problems." The Truthseer ended her projection and returned to her own thought preparations.
The woman's defenses lowered, Lilth attacked. For the Soror, it seemed that a field of energy suddenly appeared from nowhere inside her mental barriers, as Lilth's awareness clamped down over hers and held her fast. Shocked that her defenses were so quickly thwarted, and amazed the Viscountess would dare so audacious an attack, Barell was barely able to close off her inner thoughts before Lilth's presence manifested itself at the outer edges of her mind.
To those in the courtroom, it appeared as if the Soror merely continued her meditations, the increase in psychic activity dismissed as incidental to her efforts. No one suspected a thing, even when the Soror's outer mental shields collapsed onto those the Viscountess had generated to take their place. It was a fast and smooth transition.
Jordan could not stop moving, his anxiety taxing his self-control. Lilth ignored him, knowing that she only had so much time to breach the Soror's inner defenses before someone discovered that something was wrong. Clutching the doll in her hands, Lady Voxny continued her efforts to completely overcome the young truthseer.
-
Derrick was entering the judges' robing room when he felt it: Cathena was in trouble.
At first, he was unsure what to make of the sudden plea he heard in his mind, a psychic cry that was just as abruptly smothered. He knew it was real however, and that he had to act. Begging the pardon of the other judges from the doorway, he backed away and proceeded down one of the courtroom's adjacent corridors.
Seeking the source of the psychic projection, Derrick approached the two guards posted at the doors leading to the courtroom gallery. It was a breach of court custom for a judge to appear in front of the bench prior to the proceedings, but the two guards immediately came to attention and opened both doors for Derrick. To Derrick, the surprised expressions that greeted him meant nothing. In recognition of his presence, the house-guards stationed inside the room brought their arms to a defense-ready position, but even that was beneath his notice.
-
In a world of his own thoughts, Seffan Possór did not even glance in his son's direction. Only when Jordan tapped his cousin’s shoulder did the Count-Grandee look up.
-
Derrick turned to face the Soror. She sat immobile, as if in deep concentration. Sending out a mental probe, he confirmed that something was amiss. The mental shield pattern surrounding her was not her own, although its arrangement was very close. Unable to determine the true source of the
shield, Derrick knew that his best chance to help Cathena was to attack the foreign secondary shield, and shatter it as quickly as possible. Reaching inside himself, he summoned a mass of psychic energy and, with all his strength, hurled it at the Soror.
While those who sensed what was happening sat in stunned disbelief, no one was as surprised as Lady Morays. Unaware of Derrick's presence, and not expecting to defend against a mental attack, the Viscountess visibly lurched in her seat as Derrick's psychic burst hit Lilth's shielding around the Soror. From all appearances, she looked as if she had been hit from behind.
Using Derrick's distraction to push out her inner shields, Soror Barell expelled the Viscountess from behind the barriers of her outer psychic defenses.
Derrick saw Cathena Barell open her eyes as he sensed her own mental shielding fortifying once again. The pattern was different than before, but he recognized it as hers. Silently assured by the Soror’s expression that she was uninjured, the Lord Regent turned his attention to his cousiné, Lady Voxny.
At that moment time slowed for everyone in the room.
Recovering from Derrick’s assault, the hunched Viscountess spun in her chair, her right hand dragging the ground as a red glow flared in her eyes. As Lilth's gaze moved to the Lord-Regent, the concentration of power that flowed from her fury created a psychic ripple in the molecular configuration of the objects it passed. The accompanying surge caused many of the electrical devices within the line of her sight to overload. Several burned out in spectacular bursts as personal shields, their circuitry pushed beyond capacity, uncontrollably formed enlarged fields that shoved people and furniture about as they repelled everything around them.
Beneath this commotion was a low growl emanating from the enraged Viscountess, the dark rumbling from the maw of a fiend from the depths, echoing in the ears and minds of all present. The Viscountess, now on her feet, faced Derrick. Instinctively, he took a step back, realizing that Lilth had been the truthseer’s true assailant.
Guards who were not affected by the damaging power swells moved into action, raising their weapons, activating their shields, calling for backup, and taking defensive positions around those they had been charged to protect. Even those who had lost the use of equipment rushed forward. But all of them looked about uneasily, the nature of the threat unclear.
House of Jackals Page 37
